No negotiations
by an239
Summary: Saruman's strange ideology, White Council's new plague, and Celeborn's wrath – what these events have in common? Ask Gandalf. But more importantly - who's really going to pay for all this fuss?


**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Rings is a property of J.R.R. Tolkien, not mine. I'm just borrowing the fandom to make you smile.

**Characters:** Gandalf (Istari, Wizard, Maia), Celeborn (the Wise, Lord of Lothlorien), Elrond (Lord of Rivendell).

**Mentioned:** Galadriel, Saruman, Cirdan, Earendil, Elu Thingol and the White Council in general.

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"No."

"Nay, mellon nin. I'm sure that there is always a place for cultural discussion under a bright sky of Caras Galdhon. "

The sky, bright indeed with stars, squinted its eyes with mockingly smuged expression at the guest of sorceress' forest. Even Earendil held his breath.

Celeborn rolled his eyes.

"If it does not include discussion _about _theculture, you are right, my friend."

A heavy sigh escaped the lips of the Wizard, breaking a merciless silence which fell after that rather outright statement of the elven lord. Gandalf leaned back in chair, tapping his glass of wine unconsciously and looked up on a friend with only partially concealed amusement in his eyes.

"You are just prejudiced, Celeborn, admit it." He said, earning an icy glare from a companion.

"Nevertheless I am sure that Celeborn the Wise is not going to refuse this small pleasure to the weary wanderer." He tried after a while once more cunningly, looking for any signs of even a slight give.

"_Don't" _Celeborn shot him a warning look, cutting him off. "Don't try these tricks on me, Maia. I have already enough problems with a golden-tongued Saruman and his charming debates on assimilation with cultures of Middle Earth. Which, may I remind you, led us to_ this_ dispute here."

"You can convince the Council. You can convince my court. You can even convince my wife. But there is no way I will change my mind."

Gandalf shook his head, disbelievingly, raising his cup in a silent token of surrender.

….I\O/I….

"… and that is how it was." Finished Gandalf grimly, filling another goblet of wine.

"He still hadn't forgiven you, had he?" chuckled Elrond. The Hall of Fire, illuminated by fizzling light of fireplace and the stars shining through the windows was empty now, most of the residents sleeping, leaving it an ideal place for a talk. Master of the House reached out to his own drink occupying the small table next to the wizard. "On the other hand I must admit that I am not very surprised" he lifted a cup and took a sip carefully. "During last meeting of the White Council, seven of the mightiest Eldars and Istari of the Middle Earth witnessed a shocking sight of tears in Lord of Lothlorien's eyes, caused by nothing more or less than the pipe weed, brought by another member of Council from a foreign, northwestern country which almost nobody heard about so far."

"It was not a northwestern's pipe weed, but the finest, _Shire's_ pipe weed Elrond." Pointed out wizard, hints of hurt dignity audible in his voice. "Southfarthing Shire, I shall add, brought directly from country of its origin. It is considered the best tobacco even among Hobbits!"

"I doubt Celeborn would appreciate the fact even if it would be the finest tobacco of Arda" smirked elf, taking another sip of his goblet's contents. "Finding your eyes watering because of a smoke is rather humiliating, don't you think? Especially if among those seven eye-witnesses were his wife and son-in-law."

"I have apologized already" grunted Maia, setting his glass with a quiet clink and after a while reaching into depths of his pockets to take out the subject of contention and lit it. "I just hadn't anticipated that his eyes would react so… badly. Besides, Cirdan had been almost crying too, but he didn't object. And neither _you_ nor Galadriel had been at all."

"Lady Galadriel is a Noldor," smiled Elrond indulgently, also putting aside cup on the table. "Accustomed to the smith's smoke and steam since her early years in Aman, while the pipe's smoke is not the most… eccentric thing I came across during my residence in the Last Homely House. Especially when it comes to dwarfs. And speaking of Cirdan - this "almost" makes a difference, my friend."

"You did not manage to lift his ban then, did you?" asked elf after the moment of silence.

"I didn't." Istari shook his head grimly. "I am still strictly forbidden to have a pipe in Celeborn's presence, regardless of place we are in." Gandalf took with one hand pipe out of his mouth, the other one stroking beard in a suddenly thoughtful manner. "I must admit that I have underestimated his obduracy. There is much more of Thingol in him than I thought when we first met." Elrond nodded, face solemn despite sparks of amusement visible in elf's eyes. "It seems that it was a good idea not to mention to him who was the initiator of those culture-assimilation-stuff side-disputes of the Council, after all."

"Speaking of which," Elrond looked at the wizard with no longer concealed curiosity. "I still can't believe that you managed to talk Saruman into engaging this subject. How did you do that?"

A grim smile of satisfaction spread through the face of the Wizard at a memory of that small, yet significant victory, expression dimmed only a bit by the clouds of now so familiar to Elrond smoke.

"You wouldn't believe what can do to Saruman's interest in negotiations a promise of mediation in opening a new trade trail between a certain northwestern country and Isengard…"

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A/N :

This is an old story which I decided to share with you since it's Santa Claus Day and, also, the anniversary of my first year on FFN. My achievements are austere but very satisfying and I'd like to express my gratitude to all reviewing and supporting me during this year. My full and undivided attention is focused on "A question of curiosity" now, so I hope to update it sooner-than-one-year-after-last-update. My life has been conducive for my writing lately, but I am not going to give up and I'll finish this story even if it takes me forever!


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